


like a drink i tasted once

by sevdrag (seventhe)



Series: Sev's Commission Run 2019 [10]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/F, Genderswap, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Strap-Ons, They're all lesbians, all of them - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 06:46:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20689235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seventhe/pseuds/sevdrag
Summary: Bucky Barnes is on amission,and the mission is to get Clint Barton - tall, star softball pitcher, and too hot to handle - to come home with her tonight. Luckily, Clint's on a similar mission herself.[AU: THEY'RE ALL LESBIANS IN COLLEGE]





	like a drink i tasted once

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kangofu_CB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kangofu_CB/gifts), [aw_writing_no](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw_writing_no/gifts), [Spidergwenstefani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spidergwenstefani/gifts).

> right so this story has been in the works for so fuckkkking long its a little embarrassing. The working title for this fic has been AND THEY WERE LESBIANS, PEOPLE ARE GAY HAROLD, and the one that stuck: **GIVE HER THE STRAP.**
> 
> This AU world pretty much turns everyone into lesbians, focusing on adorably femme pincurl (Bethany) Bucky Barnes and buff mohawked Clint (don't use her first name) Barton. There's a Pinterest somewhere. We've all written bits and pieces of it. This is the smut. Just smut, no plot except THE STRAP.
> 
> (yes, this is the fic i worked on exceptionally drunk while CB and Michelle simultaneously ate popcorn and watched me in GDocs. Yep.)
> 
> You guys are THE BEST and thanks SO MUCH for helping me out financially and I know this is late BUT I HOPE IT DELIVERS

Bucky winds her way through the crowded party. It isn’t enough to distract her; it’s a joint event, whatever sorority here hooking up with a couple fraternities from their brother college, so there are a _ton_ of people here and _usually_ she’d lose herself in the crowd but tonight, of all nights, Bucky Barnes is here on a _mission._

She knows the softball team is here. She came with Stevie, who has since vanished into the crowd, popular and friendly and probably looking for Nat Romanoff and Sammy Wilson — but Bucky’s wandering the edges, on the hunt for someone in particular.

People are approaching her - which she expected: like she’s going to come to a party like this _unprepared._ Her hair’s half pinned back, since it’s warm in here, and the rest is falling in very careful curls which she has pulled over her right shoulder. She has on her favorite polka-dot top, wide-necked with sleeves that sit low on her shoulders, and skinny jeans with flats. Bucky knows what she looks like: it’s deliberate. It’s all part of the mission.

She spots Stevie, finally, and works her way over there to say hi — Stevie’s no closer to her target than she is, but Bucky hasn’t spotted her real mission yet, so she figures she might as well have another drink.

“Bucky! Heyyy!” Stevie yells; she looks amazing. Stevie let Bucky do her makeup today, which means she’s wearing winged liner and her glorious blonde lashes have been blacked with mascara and her eyes look like a million fuckin’ dollars, all deep blue and wide in her pale face. “Check it — Jell-O shots!”

Bucky’s already done three of them, but the point of a party is the free alcohol, right; so she sidles up next to Stevie, swaying her hips at Nat and Samantha (both of whom simply roll their eyes), and she and Stevie do two of the Jell-O shots in a row because they’re terrible.

“So,” she says, hanging onto her S’s deliberately. “Is the rest of the team here?”

Stevie’s smile is real smug, and Sam looks just as knowing - of _course_ Stevie fuckin’ told her - but Natasha shrugs as if everything is below her and says, “They’re mostly dancing.”

Bucky’s slow to advance on a dance floor without a partner, usually, but she glances over despite herself, and she spots most of the softball team in the center, arms up and doing some sort of ridiculous cheer to whatever rap song is playing — but she can’t help but smile, because there in the middle of this ridiculous circle is the ridiculous person she’s looking for.

In the center of a circle of incredibly buff ladies wearing sparkling tops over jeans, Clint stands out against a crowd just wearing what looks like a plain dark purple tank over cutoffs. Her hair’s already messed, mohawk rioting in the style Bucky’s used to seeing: sloppy, blonde, and somewhat spiked upwards in no pattern whatsoever. Her arms are held above her head and she’s laughing, and Bucky’s hit with her usual urge to walk over there, grasp Clint’s face in her hands, and devour that smiling mouth with her tongue.

Instead, Bucky plays it cool for a bit, because she hates to be obvious. Stevie conjures them up two cans of beer, which means they have to do their usual chug race, since Bucky and Stevie figured out at 16 they were forever gonna be left out of all the local parties unless they learned to chug like champs. Then they have to do it again, because whatever visiting frat boys that saw them don’t believe they’re gonna get beat by two ladies; this always ends poorly for the boys, because Bucky and Stevie both learnt the value of pride by the time they got to college, and no one beats them. 

The boys sulk loudly while Natasha and Sammy come back with the penalty shots. Bucky ordered tequila, because she likes nothing more than watching frat boys squirm and try not to gag, and a dare is a dare: she and Stevie won, fair and square.

A yell goes through the crowd - half cheer and half mocking - as the losers raise their shots high, clink, and then down them; the roar only increases at the variety of sour faces the guys make after their shots, and while Stevie’s blushing across her high cheekbones, Bucky makes a sassy bow in their direction, which leaves the crowd hooting.

There’s a rough nudge, someone elbowing her in the arm, and Bucky turns with an exasperated face — which quickly melts when she sees it’s Clint, somewhat embarrassed smile on her face, looking down at her with amusement.

“Hey, Clint,” Bucky says, hoping it comes out as casual rather than _I’m really hoping we can continue our streak as fuckbuddies tonight, because I’ve got something in mind that I’d really like to make happen._

“I heard the noise,” Clint says, bowing a bit so that her mouth is near Bucky’s ear. “Are you two causing trouble again?”

Bucky gives Clint her most innocent face. “Trouble? I don’t know _what_ you’re implying, Clint, there’s nothing going on over here.” She bats her eyelashes a bit, because she knows she looks fucking good, and is rewarded by the pink flush spreading high on Clint’s cheeks.

“I saw you two in Chug Champions,” Clint points out, and she’s smiling even as she refutes Bucky’s claim. “You took _third_ against a bunch of softball girls. Don’t try to play innocent, I see your game.”

God, for a second, Bucky _wishes_ Clint could see her game — her real game. It helps nothing that Clint is almost six foot, attractive as hell in a stunning mohawk, with biceps to fucking die for (that’s what you get as the softball team’s starting pitcher) and abs to match. It helps nothing that Bucky, who tends femme, is completely weak for strong attractive butch women. It helps nothing that Bucky happens to be weak to everything Clint Barton fucking does: the bad jokes, the constant flirting, the casual tank tops and loose jeans that seem ready to fall off of well-defined hips. It helps nothing that Bucky’s starting to suspect she’s as weak for Clint’s _personality_ as she is for Clint’s person, which is as terrifying as it is exhilarating. Bucky’s getting used to feeling out of control when talking with Clint, as if they’re at the top of a rollercoaster hill, ready to dive down. Secretly, she isn’t sure, but she kind of suspects she likes the feeling.

Now, though, Bucky turns to face Clint fully and shrugs. She’s rewarded by the quick flick of Clint’s eyes down to the neckline of her shirt, wide and low across her décolletage, before her eyes slowly track back up to Bucky’s face. Bucky feels like she did a complicated smoky-eye specifically for moments like these; she feels vindicated. 

She says, low enough that Clint has to lean in a bit, “It’s certainly not my fault that the guests here seem to think they can outdrink this tiny lady.” Cause Bucky’s small - almost petite - in every way except for her attitude.

Clint bursts out laughing, a loud hooting _Ha!_ followed by obvious chuckling, and she puts her hand low on Bucky’s back as she says, through laughter, “You only look innocent, you little shit.”

Bucky takes the invitation, steps closer to Clint’s body; Clint pulls her in, even as her blush flies higher on her face. At this point they’ve hooked up a handful of times, and they’re at the point where they’re at least familiar with each other. And while only a few people know they’ve actually hooked up, pretty much everyone here knows that they like to flirt and dance with each other, and Bucky finds that she absolutely enjoys the circumstances. It’s like an ongoing low-simmering tease, between them, which becomes the hottest fucking thing whenever Bucky can convince Clint to sneak away and come home with her.

Which is her first and only goal for tonight, so Bucky looks up at Clint through her lashes and slowly smirks. This close, she’s entirely buzzing with awareness of Clint’s body: how much taller she is, her gorgeously broad shoulders, those tight biceps that Bucky likes to get her mouth on. 

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” she says, using a dramatic shrug to step even closer up against Clint, their chests brushing now. She makes the smirk dirty. “I wouldn’t ever take advantage of some idiot frat boys.”

The thing is, Clint usually sees through her games, and thoroughly enjoys doing so. Now, she bends forward a little again, her mouth so close to Bucky’s ear that her breath makes Bucky’s skin tingle. “I know you,” Clint says, low and rough in a way that thrills through Bucky with an intensity equal to Clint’s words; “All I’m saying is that I’m sorry I missed it.”

This makes Bucky giggle, and she takes the advantage to tip her forehead into Clint’s shoulder as she laughs. Once she’s done she tips her head upwards again, near Clint’s ear, and says, grinning, “We could do it again.”

Which ends up being how Bucky and Clint, and Stevie, and Sammy and Natasha too, end up challenging a group of five visiting frat boys to a dirty chug contest and winning. It’s closer this time, and there’s some heated dialogue before the boys admit defeat. Natasha has them doing vodka shots this time, which seems fair until some of the hosting chapter demands that the winners also do victory shots. They can’t lose face, so all five of them do Buttery Nipples, because the name is funny.

At that point Bucky’s sinking into a nice buzzed haze, and it’s just so easy to turn into Clint - whose hand hasn’t left Bucky’s lower back, which Bucky notes as an exciting success - and slide her a few feet to the amorphous boundary between the crowd and the dance floor.

Bucky loves dancing with a buzz, and she loves dancing with Clint, so this ends up being a mind-melting way to spend the next — period of time, whether it’s minutes or hours. Clint likes to pull her close, making sure their bodies are touching from breasts on down, and then just _lose it:_ and Bucky will never get tired of seeing Clint, with no inhibitions or self-consciousness, simply grinding it out on the dance floor to the tune of whatever they’re playing. Clint seems to know every party song, no matter how new or how old, and Bucky ends up inexplicably turned on when Clint starts belting out lyrics and punching the air, all the while making sure Bucky’s body is still pressed to hers. It’s an _experience._

Bucky, for her part, is a _touchy_ dancer: her hands end up always on Clint, because Clint’s ass, Clint’s chest, Clint’s arms; she’ll have one hand between Clint’s shoulder blades while the other one goes exploring, and even if Clint has both arms in the air she always looks down at Bucky with this filthy grin before wrapping her arms around Bucky’s shoulders and grinding dirty against her. It’s almost worst if Bucky turns around to grind her ass up against Clint, because that’s when Clint pulls her in from behind, arms wrapped around her and face in her hair, her hips executing some of the smuttiest moves Bucky’s ever seen or felt.

This period of time is no different: Bucky moves around and against Clint for what seems like a decade. Clint’s hands are more needy than usual: they brush against the underside of Bucky’s breasts, along the belt loops of her jeans, cupping the back of her neck. Bucky fucking _loves_ it; her own hands have been running across the planes of Clint’s stomach and the curve of her lower back for what seems like forever, and when she pauses to look up into Clint’s face, she can’t tell which of them is breathing harder. Clint’s eyes are nearly unfocused and black as hell, and Bucky has a pang of _want_ so bad that it makes her heavy, leaning against Clint for a second to get her bearings before she straightens up and looks Clint in the eye. 

She opens her mouth to say something, but to her surprise Clint beats her: leaning in to mutter into her ear, low and rough, “What else do I need to do to get you to take me home?”

Breath punches out of Bucky like a moan, hissing into Clint’s neck. She puts her lips on Clint’s earlobe for a brief second before admitting, “That was my endgame tonight, so… not much.”

Bucky feels rather than hears the sound Clint makes in response. “I’m really hoping you mean now,” Clint says, and she fucking _bites_ Bucky’s earlobe as if she has any ground in this game; Bucky tries and fails to hide her body’s quick spasm, instead deciding to pull away and tug Clint to the door.

They fall apart, slightly, as they move through the crowd. It’s a weird sort of instinct; Bucky wouldn’t care if people thought they were together, but that’s because she has some kind of weird longing for Clint that has lodged itself under her breastbone. She assumes Clint may not feel the same, and between the two of them, it means discretion more than not, playing like they’re flirty but antagonistic friends any time they want to leave together.

The illusion lasts all but a couple yards, because once they’re out of sight of the frat house, Clint pulls her a couple feet down the side of the road, shoves her up against a tree, and descends into devouring Bucky’s mouth like she was made for it. 

On Bucky’s part there’s nothing but surrender: she relaxes back against the tree and pulls Clint in, separating her lips and making Clint fight for it: flicking her tongue against the other girl’s until it’s a heated war, with Clint groaning against her, and the beginnings of heat pooling between Bucky’s thighs. She lets Clint take the lead mainly because it’s hot as _fuck._ Bucky angles her mouth to Clint’s, and lets out a sigh as Clint’s hands tug her closer. 

Eventually they break apart, both breathing hard. “Sorry,” Clint says, a breath into Bucky’s hairline. “I didn’t want to wait.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Bucky breathes, looking Clint in the eye. “I have _plans_ for you.”

Clint’s eyes, which are already dark with arousal, get even darker at that; Clint’s hips do a slow grind at Bucky’s, as if they can’t help it. “Do you,” Clint says, with the beginnings of an incredibly smug smirk, which Bucky interrupts by tugging Clint’s mouth back down to hers and opening to Clint’s slow and unyielding assault. 

Once they break apart again, Bucky gazes up into Clint’s face and says, “C’mon, it isn’t far.”

They dash back to Bucky’s dorm, giggling, moving around each other on increasingly short orbits. They don’t touch or kiss within the streetlights of the college, but anyone who watches more than a few seconds would be readily able to figure out what’s going on. It’s fun, and Bucky’s nearing exhilarated with this chase; one of the reasons she’s so soft on Clint is this playful streak they seem to bring out in each other. 

The common room is empty and they stumble in, up, then out of the elevator into Bucky’s suite. She shares it with Stevie and two other girls, none of which matters now, because she’s tugging Clint down into her bedroom and shutting the door, so close to confessing her plan. 

Clint, instead, presses her up against the closed door and fucking _descends_; it’s the hottest fucking kiss Bucky’s ever had in her life, and she arches up into it, her hands no longer shy: her fingers trace over the top of Clint’s breasts, and as she hears Clint sigh, she runs them down underneath, and then up to grasp Clint’s face, pulling her as close as possible. Clint’s fingers are in her hair, tugging gently so that Bucky’s neck is exposed, head tipped back against the door; Clint’s lips move down to lick against Bucky’s throat, and Bucky _whines_ in surprise, the sensation making her hips jerk. She needs Clint’s fingers down her pants like _yesterday_.

“Alright,” Clint murmurs into the skin where Bucky’s neck meets her shoulder, “you gonna tell me what you’re thinking, or are we just gonna keep doing this?”

_God,_ Bucky doesn’t want to stop now that Clint’s here, and she spends the next few minutes pulling Clint’s mouth back to hers and tracing patterns over Clint’s breasts through her tank: it’s so _good,_ and she has her hands hooked into Clint’s jeans, as if they could be any closer. But through the haze of feeling she remembers, a few comments Clint’s made in the past, the way she always reacts to Bucky’s fingers inside her, and she figures she may as well ask. 

She gets on her tiptoes, tugs Clint’s head down. “You like toys, you said,” she starts, and she _feels_ the surprise jerk through Clint’s body against hers and _fuck,_ she wants to rub off on Clint’s leg for the next six days of her life. “Right?”

Clint _freezes,_ her head leaning down into Bucky’s shoulder, and she just whispers “Fuck, _yes,_” into Bucky’s skin. It’s breathy and thick with want and Clint has to be really worked up to be here already; Bucky knows from experience that she slows down when she’s getting overwhelmed. Bucky likes when Clint freezes. 

“Here’s my idea,” Bucky murmurs into Clint’s ear, and she’s blushing a little bit saying it out loud, sure, but she also _wants_ this. “Can I fuck you?”

Clint jerks back, and Bucky has a moment of panic until she sees Clint’s eyes: they’re huge, almost entirely black, and there’s a flush riding high on her cheeks. She’s literally _breathless_ for a second, just looking down at Bucky, and then she blurts out: “Do you - do you have —?”

Bucky smirks, because just like that the game’s right back in her court, exactly where she wants it. “I have a _really _nice strap,” she says, carefully pronouncing each word slowly and watching Clint’s blush spread down her neck. She cocks her head, making sure her hair falls _just right_ over her shoulder, and asks, “You interested?”

Clint swallows, and her hands move from Bucky’s belt loops up under her shirt, slowly tracing the skin there. Clint’s hands are almost _shaking_. She meets Bucky’s eyes, takes in the smirk, and swallows again. Clint’s eyes are wide, dark, and there’s something in them that makes Bucky feel all warm and shaky in her gut: a focus, an appreciation, a target. It’s the look Clint gets when she’s pitching at the bottom of the ninth and everything else around her becomes secondary. Bucky is just realizing how _intense_ it is to be the focus of Clint Barton’s undivided attention. 

And then Clint’s got a hand in Bucky’s hair and she’s being pressed against the door again; Clint’s mouth would be an attack if it weren’t for the sounds she’s making, whimpers coming out of her throat. Bucky’s got her hands under Clint’s tank top, and Clint’s got a sports bra on so Bucky just slides her fingers in, up from the bottom, because she needs to be touching the curves of Clint’s breasts _immediately._ Clint’s skin is smooth, and hot to her touch, and Bucky loves the tender skin of her breasts the best of all of it.

“That’s a yes,” Clint says breathlessly, although she’s smirking a little bit back, “if you hadn’t figured it out.”

“Good,” Bucky purrs, and tugs off Clint’s tank. 

Clint’s skin is _too much_ to ignore. It’s mapped out by a weird series of tan lines, from practicing outdoors in different tops, and Bucky finds them fun to trace with tongue and teeth, stopping to suck at where they overlap. Her hands have just stopped on Clint’s abs, literally, because she likes feeling them shift and contract as Clint moves, and because they’re just so fucking _amazing._ Everything about Clint’s skin is amazing. She’s so sensitive, and Bucky lets her tongue delicately trace down the top curve of Clint’s breast, stopping at the edge of her sports bra. She takes the fabric in her teeth and tugs with it.

“God, you’re impatient,” Clint says, but she steps back and hauls the bra off in one motion. And if Clint’s skin is lovely then her breasts are _unreal_, because Clint’s got muscle underneath and they’re small and they sit perfectly right there and Bucky only has to drop her head a bit to press her tongue flat against a nipple and lick upwards. _God,_ but it’s hot; Bucky’s starting to feel lightheaded, with this much of Clint already on display. She’s so attracted to Clint’s skin she almost wants to die.

Clint _hisses,_ but Bucky continues to mouth at her nipple; Clint’s hand are under her shirt, finally, undoing the clasp of her bra with those broken fingernails and busted knuckles and the occasional callus. Clint’s hands have _texture_ and they feel good everywhere on Bucky: on her back, on her thighs, working her clit. Bucky sets her hands at Clint’s hips and moves to her other breast, sucking hard at the inner curve and pulling away to watch it redden.

“You’re such a shit,” Clint says fondly, and reaches to pull off Bucky’s top. Bucky had specifically worn her black bra, the lacy one, but Clint doesn’t seem to want to bother with it; the top comes off, and Clint stares at her for a second, and then starts tugging Bucky over to her own bed, as if the world’s about to end.

“Now who’s impatient?” Bucky already has her hands on Clint’s fly, unzipping it; Clint’s jeans are always loose, and it’s easy enough to pull them down over her hips. She’s wearing simple purple bikinis, and to Bucky’s surprise Clint shucks them along with the jeans, and Bucky has to take a second - and a deep breath - because Clint naked is one of the greatest goddamn things she’s ever seen in her life. Bucky herself is soft, curved, padded; Clint’s nearly _sharp_ with muscle and Bucky has a thing for the lines of her thighs. The thing is, she specifically wants them shaking, preferably around her face.

She steps in, trying to back Clint down into the bed, but Clint’s hands have stopped at her button fly, fumbling, and Clint’s laughing — “Off, Buckyyyyy, get these _off,_” and so Bucky decides fuck it and wiggles out of her own jeans. She ducks around Clint, sprawling herself across the bed, and tugs Clint over her. She does like the feeling of Clint on top, being framed in by the hard lines of her muscles, the way it feels like they’re trapping all of the slick heat in between them until they both explode.

Clint’s immediately kissing her; Clint likes kissing, almost as much as Bucky does, and her tongue’s wild now, as she moves her roughened thumb back and forth over Bucky’s nipple. Bucky’s arching into it, tugging at Clint’s hair. It’s starting to feel like her spine is on fire, heat creeping up from between her thighs to sprawl lazily up her body. Clint’s intoxicating like this; she just _needs,_ and touches, and Bucky can’t get enough of it, wandering hands and the noises from her throat. She’s missed this; it hasn’t even been that long, and she’s missed this. She’s so far gone it scares her, on some abstract plane, but the rest of her is deeply in tune to the way Clint’s mouth is moving against hers, as if Clint’s trying to memorize the feeling.

Bucky likes the feeling of Clint over her, sure, but she still has _plans,_ so she eventually moves to get Clint on her back. The dorm beds aren’t that big and Clint’s tall, and they have a quick giggle as they get situated, but Clint’s just reclined back on the pillows and reached for her when Bucky traces a finger down and dips it between Clint’s legs. _Fuck,_ she’s wet, and hot with it, and Clint legitimately shakes as Bucky slowly outlines Clint’s clit.

“Hey,” Clint says, her voice rough and uneven, “I thought you had an idea.”

Bucky chuckles, dips down to lick at Clint’s hipbone. “Oh, you’re coming at least once before we even start that party,” she says, and Clint’s hips jerk up against her hand in an uncontrolled motion.

“Bucky Barnes,” Clint says, and it’s this thick groan that Bucky’s never even heard out of her before, “you’re going to literally kill me from sex.” Clint is such a _nerd_ and god, Bucky likes it, so much. It’s the tone of her voice as much as the words, as if Clint might at all be as hungry for her as Bucky is for Clint, like, all the time. Bucky likes to think so — wish so. No real evidence, but she’s hopeful; she’d like to be able to stake a claim on Clint, to really be the target of Clint’s affections, but she’s always been scared that she misunderstands everything during sex, because she just likes sex so much.

Bucky sets her thumb against Clint’s clit and starts moving, light motions at first, making sure she stays slick and wet; she finally mouths across Clint’s abs, which shiver under her lips from the attention. Clint’s breathing is rough, and she moans and twists herself a little against Bucky’s thumb as Bucky licks up higher, tonguing the underside of Clint’s breast. It’s so _good, _hearing those sounds; Bucky’s slick already, god, she’s ready, but she’s gonna wait. She needs to hold on if she’s gonna be rational at all later; she’s already so unlikely to keep her head when she has all of Clint’s skin at her disposal. 

“Is this good?” Bucky whispers. She always asks, with Clint; she likes to hear Clint say it. It isn’t quite making Clint beg; it’s making Clint acknowledge it, hearing Clint say that it’s Bucky making her feel good, it’s Bucky’s hands and words and movements that are getting Clint off. 

Clint makes some kind of noise like _hhnnggg_ and gets a hand in Bucky’s hair, not pulling, just moving against her scalp. Clint has a _thing_ for her hair and Bucky’s a real fan. “I’m already - fucking close,” Clint murmurs, her hips trying to move harder against Bucky’s hand. “Been turned on since the dancing, you fucking tease.” The heat of it goes straight to Bucky’s cunt, and she tries not to obviously rock against the mattress. 

“Good,” Bucky purrs, shifting herself down the lines of Clint’s amazing body, stopping to get her mouth along Clint’s abs again before she crouches, pressing Clint’s legs open further. She stops to press a kiss to Clint’s thighs, one then the other, then slips down to flick her tongue up against Clint’s clit — just a brief touch.

Clint hisses. “_Shit._”

Bucky works both of her hands between Clint’s legs, tugging lightly with her fingers to pull the folds away so that she can focus her mouth on that swelling bud. She wants Clint to come at least once before they get the toys — mainly because she wants Clint to have multiple orgasms every time she comes over, but also because she gets so turned on hearing Clint’s noises. She can’t help it; hearing Clint come so undone would make anybody wet and ready. Bucky’s a little bit addicted.

Bucky keeps her tongue light, little flicks and laps, until Clint’s twisting her hips trying to get more and moaning, rhythmic little gasps. “Buck, I’m close,” she manages to say, “just use your fucking fingers already, _please,_” and she tries to grind directly against the plane of Bucky’s tongue. It kills Bucky, every time; gets _feelings_ working their way up inside her chest, because Clint’s so responsive and Bucky just _loves_ the thought that she can make Clint feel like this, that she’s the one here between Clint’s thighs: it’s an ultimate power trip.

“You’re going to have enough inside you later,” Bucky replies, trying for casual; “I want to do this first.” Clint groans in response, and Bucky actually laughs against her skin. The noises Clint makes are _so good_ and Bucky’s so wet, herself; she almost feels like just grinding herself against the sheets, or her own hand, but she isn’t going to give in: not now. 

The reminder - or the anticipation - Bucky isn’t sure, but when she slips back in and starts working the flat of her tongue up against Clint’s clit, it seems to only be seconds before Clint’s thighs are clenching around her head, tight and shaking, and Bucky licks her through the entire thing as Clint comes with a cut-off moan.

“Ohmygodohmygod oh my _god._” All of the tension in Clint’s body dissipates at once, and Bucky climbs her way up Clint’s body to smile down at her. She feels like she’s almost as flushed as Clint; it isn’t that obvious of a secret that she loves getting Clint off, that she could honestly not come if it meant Clint came twenty times, that all she really wants is to hear this panting breath against her skin and know that she’s the only thing on Clint’s mind at this moment. 

Clint’s grinning, and she’s flushed all the way down her collarbone. She presses kisses to Bucky’s chin, her neck, and then pulls her down for one of those overwhelming devouring kisses Bucky’s only had with Clint, where almost all of her brain just turns off compared to the sensation of Clint’s lips and tongue, moving against her mouth. Bucky’s brain goes temporarily offline because Clint has been able to do this to her since day one: when Clint puts her entire mind into kissing, Bucky just gets washed away, into some kind of heated pool of desire and want and _hell _she needs to control her hands.

Bucky finally breaks away - what has to be days later - and smirks down at Clint, fondly. She’s propped on an elbow, one of her hands in Clint’s hair, and Clint’s big hands are on her back and the curve of her ass, respectively, and Clint looks like she’s just won the fucking World Series Super Sports Bowl of something (one of those is right; Bucky doesn’t do sports and also isn’t thinking straight).

“What do you think?” Bucky drops to kiss at Clint’s neck, down to the lines of her collarbone and the swell of her breasts. “You ready?”

“Yes,” Clint says immediately, “no, I mean, yes. No? Probably not, I might actually die, but yes. God, yes. Let’s. Yeah. Do it.” She’s stammering and completely unapologetic about it: Clint hides nothing like this, naked and blunt and occasionally desperate. Bucky wants to get her to desperate. It’s a good look on Clint.

“Right,” Bucky says. “You wait here.”

The box sits in her closet, underneath a couple shoeboxes full of last semester’s notes. Normally, in her experience, there isn’t anything the other person finds sexy about strapping this entire apparatus on, so she thinks to just give Clint a nice view of her ass as she gets the pieces in order. This entire plan is entirely derailed the second she pulls the rig out of the box and Clint makes this weak, pathetic sound, and Bucky turns around to see Clint staring at her with her eyes gone completely, unexpectedly dark. It drills through Bucky, unexpectedly; it’s Clint’s laser focus again, but in a way Bucky hasn’t ever seen before.

“Get _over_ here,” Clint rasps, her voice gone to a new and interesting octave.

Bucky swallows, and the sound is clearly audible. “Wait,” she gasps, curious but also stalling. She holds up the two attachments that go with the straps. “Which?”

Clint gestures towards the larger one, and Bucky swallows again, her throat suddenly dry. “Now come _here,_” Clint says, and Bucky thought she was in control until now, when her entire cunt is throbbing to the beat of Clint’s voice, and she thinks about fighting it until she realizes she’s already setting it on the bed in front of Clint.

Bucky’s heart is beating, _fast,_ and Clint’s eyes keep drawing her in as they flick between the strap on the bed and her face, again and again, and she just wants: wants to take Clint, to make Clint hers, to claim her, stamp her with Bucky’s name, and the thought is as _terrifying_ as it is arousing.

Bucky backtracks in her head, takes a hard breath through her nose, swallows, and looks down.

“_Fuck,_” Clint says, her long fingers already entwined in the straps in a way that makes Bucky need to breathe harder through her nose and maybe sit down. “I was gonna put this on you, but, like, what the _fuck_ is this?”

Bucky laughs - surprised - a choked motion that comes out as a huff, and she picks it back up and works it straight through her fingers like a cat’s-cradle. “Here,” she says, stepping into it and working it up her legs; “it’s a combination thing - panties and straps.”

“Holy fucking hell,” Clint says. Her fingers are, technically, trying to work it up Bucky’s thighs, but it also kind of feels like Clint might be overwhelmed by the entire setup, and it makes Bucky a little bit nervous. 

She settles the entire rig over her hips - the pieces connected not just by straps, but by fine mesh fabric between the leather - and says, trying to project confidence and sexiness all at once, “How does this look?”

There’s a frozen moment, and then Clint’s groaning, “Fuck, Bucky,” and already mouthing at the joint where the straps meet the holster against Bucky’s pelvis, and Clint’s fucking _mouth_ should be _illegal_ and Bucky tries to shift her away, to get the dildo settled in the harness, except that Clint’s mouth then moves onto the _dick_ and Bucky’s trying not to breathe as Clint’s beautiful lips are playing around the dildo and that movement in the harness is making Bucky feel dumb and crosseyed and like she might orgasm simply from the visual alone. 

“This is great,” Clint breathes, onto the goddamn silicone dick, but she’s looking up at Bucky as if this has nothing to do with the attachment, as if she doesn’t know the effect her gaze has on Bucky. “But what about you?”

Bucky swallows, and then after a moment, gets her composure back. “There’s plenty for me,” she says, and shows Clint the controller in her hand: a small circular device, with two buttons, and dials at each end. In all honesty, one’s for the small vibrator that fits in the little inside pocket of the harness. It’s actually respectable: a sleek bullet, textured at one end to encourage motion, with multiple settings and speeds. Bucky buys high quality, for a reason.

“Fuck shit fuck,” Clint spits, “this is the — the hottest thing I’ve ever,” and then she’s moving - removing her mouth from the dildo and turning, stretching, until she’s — Clint is fucking _hands and knees_, in front of Bucky, who’s still kind of blinking at the dildo she’s holding in her hand, and Clint’s just breathing, hard into the silence of her dorm room, and Bucky has a bleak moment where she is honestly doubting everything she knows. The angle of Clint’s back is almost unbelievable. Bucky’s just trying to breathe.

“Buck,” Clint _whines_ from where she’s rocking, back and forth, and fuck Clint must _really_ like this idea. “C’mon, Bucky, please.”

This was not at all what Bucky was expecting, earlier, and it’s somehow _magnitudes hotter,_ and she isn’t sure what in the world to do with it because she really only wants to fuck Clint until they both die.

The angle of Clint’s back is _obscene. _Bucky can see all of the muscles of her back, and shoulders, and arms: slim, and taut, and waiting, the curve of every nerve anticipating Bucky: and Bucky has this sudden moment, swept up in absolute affection for Clint, for this ridiculously attractive person waiting in her bed for _her,_ for Bucky Barnes and her _toy,_ and wanting it so bad it can be read in every line of her body.

Bucky arranges herself, hands on Clint almost gratuitously, palming bare skin any chance she gets. It’s good, because she isn’t sure she has the brain cells, tracing shaking hands down the curves of Clint’s ass and bringing the dick she’s wearing closer and slower to Clint’s folds.

“Bucky,” Clint gasps, and it’s awful: need and want and a million things, like Clint’s choking on them. And it’s exactly how Bucky feels: fractured, into this collection of a million pieces, and she somehow knows that this is an inflection point, that things will never be the same between them after.

Bucky tilts herself so that the tip of her dick just parts Clint’s folds. The sudden pressure against her, the give of Clint, the feeling; Bucky’s clit is pressed against the knob of that vibe, and she can’t help but make this sound as she presses in further: it’s a groan, a gasp, a cry. It’s all the things she doesn’t want Clint to know just yet, a shaky need, and Bucky realized her head has tipped down until her face is resting between Clint’s shoulder blades, and she’s breathing too hard. Her hips jerk, once.

It’s almost ridiculous. Bucky pauses, almost worried, until Clint lets out this terribly grandiose moan, and does some kind of internal flexing to pull Bucky in _further._ Sure, she’s done this before, but not with someone who’s raving _hungry_ for it, and Bucky just pushes in, more and more. She ends up sunk into Clint _right_ at the edges before her brain even starts firing synapses.

“Clint,” Bucky whispers, because it’s good, it’s so _fucking_ good, but she needs to hear from Clint right now cause she’s about to start rutting against the vibe and she’s really trying to make this good for Clint. “Hey, you okay?”

“Fuck you,” Clint replies, and arches her back, beautiful - regal - defiant - and totally needy in this context. “Fuck you,” Clint breathes, “fuck me,” and she presses backwards with her hips, until Bucky feels like she’s so deep inside she might die.

Bucky begins to move. She feels flushed, high, her hands on Clint’s hips. She’s throbbing between her legs, every push teasing back against her clit, and she doesn’t want to come until she’s managed to pound Clint into another orgasm. The noises Clint’s making are obscene, little gasps as Bucky moves in slow circles, grinding up against Clint.

“Please,” says Clint, and Bucky wants to die at how needy it is.

“_Fucking_ hell,” Bucky gasps. It’s a phrase that came to her lips the very first time she hooked up with Clint Barton, and on a couple times in between: but Bucky has _never_ meant it more than now, where she’s simultaneously watching her own strapped-on cock fuck Clint, but she’s also thrusting up against the textured knob inside of it, and it’s going to turn into this never-ending cycle of building heat, Bucky just knows this.

“I can’t,” Clint whines, but her hips are working back and up against Bucky’s harness at an equally intense rate; Bucky spends a few seconds learning it, and then she’s thrusting forwards as Clint moves backwards and is met with this terrifyingly low groan and an upwards twitch of Clint’s hips as she apparently meets that sensitive spot. It’s at this point that Bucky turns on her own pocket vibe, at a low level, and the slow vibrations mutter against her own clit as she moves, riding out Clint’s own groans against the noises she wants to make in her throat. She’s pounding into Clint, now, and the sounds are all slick and slap, and Clint’s harsh breathing.

“_Bucky,_” Clint gasps, and Bucky’s _so close_ she hears Clint above the din like a bolt of electricity: “I’m gonna, I’m - Bucky, I’m, fuck,” and Clint’s hips get needy, dragging as she breathes hard. Bucky keeps her angle and works a hand around in front, dragging her middle finger against Clint’s clit, and it literally only takes a couple thrusts through Clint against her own hand until Clint’s coming again, gasping, body shuddering in a way Bucky hasn’t been able to feel until now, with part of herself inside of Clint’s hips.

Clint collapses, but Bucky’s so fucking close she murmurs, “_Clint, can I,_” and Clint makes some noise that isn’t at all intelligible but sounds positive so Bucky continues in a soft grind, fucking softly into Clint, and those incredibly intense noises don’t stop as Bucky rubs herself against the knob in her own vibrator and then comes, surprisingly, loudly, muffling her own cries in the back of Clint’s neck as she shakes intensely over Clint’s thighs and grabs onto her biceps to stabilize. Her vision is spotty, she’s so fucking turned on, it feels like her hands are quivering too—

“_What_ the _fuck_,” Clint says, and she starts to turn - Bucky moves, pulling the dildo out of Clint to let her hips rotate - she settles in on her back, and pulls Bucky back in until Bucky’s attached cock has settled in the joint of Clint’s hip, and Clint’s moving against her, and Clint’s murmuring but it isn’t anything gentling, it’s more like, “What the hell, what the _hell,_ what _the hell,_” on repeat. Bucky’s lightheaded and gasping, and Clint pulls her in tight for a second. She can feel aftershocks still shuddering through Clint’s legs as she pulls Bucky in with them, and Bucky has to catch her breath in Clint’s collarbone. It’s a shuddering breath, itself, broken up by the echoes of her orgasm.

_God,_ it feels good in Clint’s arms, pressed up against her, all that glorious skin to feel. It’s terrifying. Bucky wants to stay here forever.

But Clint’s moving, working, shifting her hips underneath Bucky until they’re lined up and Clint grips the dildo and Bucky slides home, easily, her hips pressed up against Clint’s again.

“What are you doing?” It comes out almost a whisper like there’s something caught in Bucky’s throat and she still feels shaky, but this is Clint and she’ll give Clint anything if she only asks. 

“Give me this.” Clint grabs with quick hands and clutches the remote in her fingers. Her smile is sly, and fond, and all kinds of things Bucky’s only hoped for, and she doesn’t know how to think anymore, staring down at Clint’s face, pink with exertion, blonde hair going every which way. 

“Bucky Barnes,” Clint murmurs. “Bethany Bucky Barnes, what am I going to do with you.”

Bucky ducks her head cause nobody calls her _Bethany_ any more except professors and strangers. She _knows_ not to use Clint’s first name, too: everybody knows that. But looking down at Clint she can see that Clint knows she’s not saying it on purpose, and gratitude is so clear on her face that Bucky sighs, and smiles, stupidly happy all of a sudden.

“What am I going to do with _you,”_ she says, slowly circling her hips, and Clint makes this broken-off sound at the sensation. 

“I am ready to close my eyes and die happy,” Clint replies, her own smile widening as she looks at Bucky. “Except that I really, really wanna see your face when I pay you back with this.” She glances at the remote, fumbles, and the low vibration up against Bucky’s sensitive clit makes Bucky gasp, then breathe out heavily over Clint’s collarbone. Her entire cunt is _throbbing._

“Yeah,” Clint says as Bucky’s eyes flutter closed. The sensations are too much: pulsing against her clit, the feeling of the straps round her hips, and all of Clint’s skin warm and slick with sweat underneath her. “Do it, Bucky. Rub yourself off. I wanna watch.”

“Oh _god_.” It leaves her mouth completely unintentionally. Bucky opens her eyes and Clint’s watching her like a hawk, something hungry in her gaze. “Clint, I’m—” She isn’t even sure how to finish that sentence. 

“Go ahead.” Clint’s voice is dark, low, raspy. “Move if you need to, still feels good, Buck, just wanna…” Clint trails off and the hand not holding the remote comes up to tuck Bucky’s hair behind her ear, to hold her face. It’s incredibly sweet and Bucky turns her cheek into it and it’s so incongruous of a moment that she wants to take it and hold it, forever, tuck it into a pocket somewhere near her heart.

She’s thrusting into Clint again, instinctively; it’s more like grinding, really, because she’s deep inside and just making circles with her hips, and she feels the tingling heat starting in her clit and moving outwards, upwards, inwards. Bucky’s making some kind of sound into Clint’s hand, turned into it entirely, a whining noise muffled by Clint’s palm. She feels it shooting up her spine, she’s clenching, it’s almost too much. Clint’s other hand drops the remote and moves to her hip, encouraging this filthy grinding she’s doing, and Bucky ducks her forehead into Clint’s hand as the shock of it hits her: white-hot, this time, with Clint underneath her and around her, and crackling through her still-shaky limbs as she collapses.

“Yeah,” Clint whispers, holding her as it goes on, and _on,_ so good; Clint’s arms are around her now and Bucky’s face is tucked against Clint’s neck and it smells like Clint’s hair product, coconuts and salt, and Bucky’s shaking, shaking, and for one brief split moment she wants to cry.

“I got you,” Clint says. One hand leaves Bucky momentarily and the vibe stops its excruciating quiver against her clit and Bucky huffs out air at the loss of it. “I know,” Clint murmurs. “I know. Jesus, Bucky.”

“Should I move?” Bucky manages to say into Clint’s neck. Her limbs feel like jello and she feels both incredibly overstimulated and like she’s still coming at the same time. 

“No,” Clint says, fiercely. “I’m gonna die if you move again, just stay here and let me hold you, for fuck’s sake.”

Bucky laughs, a weak puff. “I’m not going anywhere. Hold away.”

She can feel Clint’s rabbiting pulse, and can hear the way Clint’s still breathing heavily, near to her own ear. “Was that good?” Bucky asks, and her voice is a little smaller than she wanted it to be; this was supposed to be for Clint, and _she’s_ the one who can barely catch her breath.

“I do not believe you have the balls to actually ask that,” Clint declares, and her arms get a little bit tighter around Bucky. “You’re fucking stupid, Barnes.”

“You’re fucking easy, Barton,” Bucky shoots back, because this is comfortable, their banter coming back to them after mindsplitting sex. This is better. 

Clint barks a laugh and turns her face into Bucky’s hair. “Course I’m easy for you,” she says, and Bucky feels Clint press a kiss against her scalp. “Like that every fucking time, you have no idea.”

And that’s something they’ve never talked about: the way it is between them, like sparks lighting, the way that they fit. Bucky feels Clint stiffen, suddenly anxious, and she kisses at Clint’s neck until she feels Clint breathe out. 

“This is pretty good,” Bucky says slowly, into Clint’s jawline. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Clint breathes, and maneuvers herself a little bit until she’s kissing Bucky again: slow and deep, as hot as those first kisses up against the tree, carrying that passion Clint Barton carries into everything. Bucky lets herself melt, because her strap-on is literally _still inside Clint_ and she’s far too raw to do anything but let Clint gain some ground back. Bucky opens her mouth, lets Clint’s tongue tangle with hers, lets Clint suck at her bottom lip until it’s hot: god, it’s good, it’s so good. Bucky feels light-headed. 

Finally they part, and Clint’s just looking at her with these open eyes like Bucky’s something amazing and precious, and Bucky can barely take it. She ducks her head, but then peeks back up, and Clint’s smile is a little crooked and a lot genuine and she suddenly feels incredibly shy despite her own brazen performance. 

“You can, um, stay if you want,” Bucky says, and it sounds kind of stupid but like — she isn’t gonna kick Clint out of her bed, make her walk all the way across campus. If Clint would rather sleep in her own room, no problem, but like. Bucky isn’t going to do that, in the first place, but in the second place she isn’t looking at how badly she wants Clint here, overnight, in the morning. 

“Thank fuck,” says Clint, and she finally pulls herself away a bit, shifting so that Bucky’s rig slides out. Clint flops over on the mattress on her back and stretches, then looks up, giving Bucky a wide, dumb smile. It’s incredibly soft and Bucky smiles back, helpless, cause Clint’s fucking gorgeous and oh, lord, she’s catching _feelings._

Clint reaches down and starts to undo the straps, tugging at her panties. “This can’t be comfortable,” she says, and her motions are causing the nub of the vibrator to rub up against Bucky again, and she’s too sensitive. Bucky shivers, and Clint laughs, deep and rich, and hunches herself upwards to lick across Bucky’s nipple, very slowly.

“You are not helping,” Bucky says, and it’s a little too breathless to be sarcastic.

“Hmm,” Clint hums, although she drops back to the bed. Bucky climbs her way over Clint and strips off the panties. She disassembles the kit; cloth goes into her laundry bag, and the plastic she slips into the discreet bag she’ll take to the shower later. 

“Come _here,_” Clint whines, and Bucky climbs back into the bed, where Clint has tugged open the sheets to slide inside already. To her surprise, Clint opens her arms, so Bucky slides in further, resting her head in the nook between Clint’s neck and shoulder. They spend a few moments just breathing, just holding each other, all skin on skin and it’s so comfortable Bucky thinks she might actually be able to drop off.

“I absolutely hate myself for saying this right now,” says Clint, with self-deprecating laughter in her voice. “But I um, yeah. Wanna get dinner tomorrow and then do this again?”

Air catches in Bucky’s throat. They’ve never, ever talked about this, at all. All of their time hanging out has either been in group settings like parties, or just in bed. Never anything more. There’s a pang in her chest, warm and sweet, like nothing Bucky’s ever felt before. And the fact that it’s Clint - confident, wild, reckless Clint - saying it here, in Bucky’s bed, all sweat-slick and still warm from orgasm with arms around Bucky…

“Yeah,” Bucky croaks; she coughs, laughing, and she can feel Clint’s silent giggle beneath her. “Yeah,” she says. “That sounds nice, Clint.”

Clint’s body melts around hers in relief and Bucky hides a smile along Clint’s collarbone. “Right,” Clint says, and she’s recovered some of that sarcastic edge she uses to hide when she’s vulnerable. “Now hush, you’re keeping me awake, you dick.”

Bucky pauses, and then takes a deep breath and blows a raspberry into Clint’s shoulder. 

“Fuck!” Clint yells, but she’s laughing now, and she rolls Bucky over in a tumble and tugs her up against Clint’s body, spoon-style. “No more of that, you fucking heathen.”

“Christ,” Bucky says, even as she’s snuggling backwards to make sure she’s tucked into Clint as tight as possible. “You keep moving, I’m kicking your ass out.”

“I’m bigger than you,” Clint murmurs into the back of her neck, which makes Bucky shiver in pleasure. “Like to see you try.”

Bucky breathes in. She figures Clint went out on a limb with the date suggestion, so she can probably pay her back with a bit of vulnerability herself.. “Not tonight,” she says, honestly. “You’re comfortable.”

“I’m better than comfortable,” Clint says, offended, “I’m a fucking rock star.”

“Mmm,” Bucky hums, tucking an ankle back between Clint’s legs so that they’re even more tangled. God, but this is incredible. She’s scared she’ll say the wrong thing, or fuck it up somehow, but at the same time she’s never felt closer to Clint and she likes it so much. “Comfortable rock star.”

“Sweet,” Clint says, sounding sarcastic, but her arms tighten and she presses a kiss beneath Bucky’s ear, so, there’s that. 


End file.
